


Blackstar or Low

by alcyonejonquil



Category: Vampire: The Masquerade, Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Genre: ALL the drama actually, Backstory, Canon-Typical Violence, Catholic Church References, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Gen, Humor, Internal Conflict, Or Mentions of It Anyhow, POV First Person, Prompt Fill, Religious Guilt, Snarky Female Character is Snarky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:09:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22423123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alcyonejonquil/pseuds/alcyonejonquil
Summary: Bowie's, admittedly, not dealing well with this wholesupernaturalbusiness.It's all more than a bit ludicrous, to be fair - why's everyone in the Fantasy World™ so hell-bent on going for this religious imagerything?I mean, not that she'd mind too much.They're just twisting the knife a little, you know? Given where she's grown up and all.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 7
Collections: /r/FanFiction Prompt Challenge #16 / January 2020





	Blackstar or Low

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quillweave](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillweave/gifts).



> Well... I love you, my friend, but you know that. You're the reason why this little one-shot exists, beginning to end, playthrough to fledgling idea to story.
> 
> And if I've wanted to gift it to you, because you're amazing and inspiring and many other things and I'm hugely grateful for having met you... that's not surprising, either, I'd say. ❤️

_A good time, please. A good time. That’s all I ask for, once in a blue moon. Make an exception, just for tonight._

Stupid sack of meat and bones. Stupid Id, right? Or whatever it’s called, I don’t recall.

Stupid _me_ , for giving in.

Do I have to move? Can I not just sink into the concrete like this, standing up, and stay there, underneath, in the dark, where I now belong, where the garbage and piss stains don’t reach, where it’s all peaceful and one-note and sane?

I should be able to manage it. I’m empty, insubstantial enough, surely.

(It’s funny, how it takes your entire perception of yourself changing for you to become aware of how the skin stretches over your knuckles or the back of your neck with each movement, isn’t it?)

The thing is, I’m made of half-dried sand, on the verge of breaking, but I could just as easily break into a _run_ —the muscles reassure me, and I guess they’ve got a point, they’re so lean and sturdy, all of a sudden, strung with electricity to high heavens. I’d reach New York City by morning, if I wanted to.

And that’s probably what this scrawny dude’s been blabbering about for the last few minutes—oh, why the fuck’s he still here, go away, I don’t even remember your name, you stink and I hate you, I could be home, glued to the TV, why have I come, why have I come?!...

I don’t care how far out of my league that guy in the bar was, how smooth-talking, how sympathetic to the struggles of a Geography major. I should’ve taken one look at the seedy hotel he brought me to and bolted, right there. You’d think living in this city for so long would—

Yes, Beardy McCreepers, your melodious voice keeps coming into focus even when I try to tune it out. What d’you want?

Feed? I should feed. Okay. Would that make the spinning stop, the screeching black hole in my insides close? That’d be so wonderful!

And… what? Fangs, yes, genius, how else is it supposed to work? Stop patronizing me, you _fuck_ , I’ve always known, been born for it, nothing’s ever been simpler. Outta my way.

Yeah, yeah, _not drain ’em dry_ , whatever; ‘course I won’t, I’m not some goddamn criminal.

Oh, to follow them, to nick the vessel just so, to drink. _A miracle_ , says everything I’m made of.

…Are we absolutely sure that's a good idea, though? ‘Cause of the hollowness, dammit, can’t you feel it, you dumb body? From where I’m standing, every single gulp I take is very likely to spill between my ribs and end up splashing on the pavement, and where’ll we be at then?!

It’ll hold, you seem to tell me. It’ll be a life source. Salvation.

(Metaphorically speaking, I presume, you can’t mean that in the literal sense.)

Fine, we might as well. You owe me, meat, for having gotten me into this mess, so you’d better start atoning for it, you hear?

Not like you’ve got anything else to do for a _good_ _time_ , at the moment, do you?

***

Okay, then.

Do you know, uncle, those movies you’ve never let me watch? (But that I’d end up watching anyway, at one of my classmates’, the same way I would experience all of the things you tried to shelter me from?) Yeah, those. Hefty dollops of… of blood, and viscera, heads flying everywhere, monsters that go “Boo!” from behind ratty curtains.

Well, you wouldn’t believe what I’ve found out today!

Mm, how might I put this? Let’s just say, if you were worried about my eternal soul’s entrance exam into the Nice Place Beyond before...

Yup. Tough luck.

And those guys who attacked afterwards! (And whom I duped and escaped, thank you.) Oh, you’d _love_ them! They’re co-workers of yours, or something, _I_ _know_ , exciting, right?!

The Sabbat, my ass. Bishops. What a bunch of clowns…

That’s what they all are, up to the last one; _especially_ the last one, with all the grandiose delusions, playing judge and executioner in the name of… keeping the weirdness contained? Out of normal people’s sight?

Do the Hollywood-style weirdos _have_ to go for the whole blasphemy thing in the real world, too, though? They just _had_ to adopt that faux-Christian, edgy aesthetic that’s more cliché than anything else. Like, out of the very limited range of things that’d be able to kill them, would a little imagination really be the first? Is nothing truly sacred anymore?...

I’m aware I’m the last person who’s got the right to ask that last question, in your opinion, don’t worry, I can see the little glare you’d throw me from all the way over here.

And yeah, that’s the crux of the matter, I s’pose. Why I’ve wandered back here like a forlorn puppy (I’m NOT saying “like the prodigal daughter,” alright, you can’t make me).

I’m not even sure what I’m hoping for, to be honest. We haven’t spoken in so many years, apart from the obligatory holiday wishes I've sent you via email, and to which you’ve always replied in a warm tone that managed to be just stern enough to make me cower a bit in front of the screen. And I guess that’s just it, that the guilt’s never gone away. There’s always been that moral conscience you loved to lecture me about, and it’s been clawing at me gently, paying no mind to what I wanted. It’s kept on with its business, trying to nudge me towards what it knew was right with the unfailing certainty of superhuman things.

—I think I understand it now, by the way. Why you would talk to me as if you didn’t want to _assume_ you were in the possession of the ultimate truths… but you believed you were, anyhow, and were kinda bad at not giving yourself away. It was some sort of contagion, from sifting through the more-than-mortal, the damn absolute all the time, and now I’ve had that forced upon me, too, and I—

Well, your beloved conscience was correct. Are you satisfied? It felt wrong going against it, moving away on a whim like I did, as soon as I turned eighteen, wasting my days doing shitty jobs and my nights imbibing even shittier booze.

And it’s made muscle memory and instinct bring me back to you, just to rub it in. I almost want to ask for you, have you come up to the gate, if merely to enjoy your reaction.

 _My word, what are you doing here in the middle of the night? And looking like_ that _, Anna, seriously, what’s been going on with you?_

_Um, you see, uncle… I’ve been bitten, and not only in the fun way, I’m sorry to say. Also, I’m Bowie, nice to meet you!_

I doubt I could ever convince you to call me that, if I tried for a hundred years. You never did approve of dad's spreading the nickname around when I was a kid, no matter how well I felt it suited me, and how everyone else was utterly delighted by it.

Yes, I know. I was Anneliese when I was born. Courtesy of mom, ever the romantic at heart.

But it eventually turned out I’d only fall asleep if I had either _Blackstar_ or _Low_ spinning on the record player, so that name got replaced pretty quickly.

Cars do have the unfortunate habit of crashing into each other, though, and my parents’ old VW did that, too, at one point. I became little Anna, bishop Joel Stevens’ niece, and that’s who I was, to everyone, for a long while after.

Imagine all the ruckus it’d cause, for the whole Archdiocese to see me like this. The quirky name would be the least of their concerns, and isn’t that a terrifying thought?

…Am I really so pathetic, to have come here just to stand behind a tree and stare at the old stone walls on the other side of the street? Apparently so. But what else can I do, huh?

Not like you’d have any way of helping me _now_. Even if you hardly let me down, for as long as I’ve known you. If I’ve been an idiot for cutting nearly all contact.

You’d gladly take me back. Or at least do everything in your power to guide and comfort me. And the worst thing is, it wouldn’t be just for show, because you’re supposed to be a shepherd and I’m the lost (black) sheep. No, you’d always held that chip of unwavering truth in your eyes, when you reassured me, when you behaved like the most diligent father I’d ever met.

This is nothing if not a nice opportunity for dealing in absolutes, then! Do we let the freakshow relative who feeds on blood get within a thousand feet of us, possibly unleashing the wrath of a supernatural parallel society that, albeit ridiculous, has proven to be highly effective at murder? Do we let her, because we love her?

No. No, even better. Can the freakshow relative herself trample her conscience just enough to allow for that to happen? Does she barge in, for hugs and safety, for warm welcomes she needs more than anything in the world?

Now _that’s_ a kick-ass dilemma, if ever I have seen one.

God.

**Author's Note:**

> This is also included in r/FanFiction's January 2020 Prompts Challenge! A huge thank you to holliequ/[QuoteMyFoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuoteMyFoot) for organising the event!


End file.
